Bayard rapped the dust from his brush and answered:
"You're right; they're alike, Tommy. It takes heart, courage, to go through things that Ann an' Abe went through ... different kinds. It wasn't so much what happened at th' mine. It was th' years she'd put in, abused, fearin', tryin' not to hate. That was what took th' sand, th' nerve. If she hadn't been th' right sort, she'd have crumpled up under it."
Clary said nothing for a time but eyed Bruce carefully, undisguised affection in his scrutiny. Then he spoke,
"My guess is that you two'll set a new pace on this here trail to happiness!"
The forenoon dragged. Bruce completed the small tasks of morning and hunted for more duties to occupy his hands. The women would not allow him in the house, and beneath his controlled exterior he was in a fury of impatience. From time to time he glanced speculatively at the sun; then referred to his watch to affirm his judgment of the day's growth.
Ann was still at the Boyd ranch and old Hi was to drive her to her new home before noon. Judson Weyl, who was to marry them, had been called away the day before but had given his word that he would leave Yavapai in time to reach the ranch with an ample margin, for Bruce insisted that there be no hitch in the plans. Long before either was due the big rancher frequently scanned the country to the north and east for signs of travelers.
"You're about as contented as a hen with a lost chicken," Tommy observed.
Bruce smiled slightly and scratched his chin.
"Well, I'd hate to have anything delay this round-up."